


When Seconds Melt Into Hours

by halfwaybowden



Category: Ballum, EastEnders (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfwaybowden/pseuds/halfwaybowden
Summary: 'What If' where Callum is shot by Hunter instead of Ben (credit to anon for the original concept)
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	When Seconds Melt Into Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I really got into writing this fic and I am quite proud of it, I must say! It's a bit of a mash up, following the filmed scenes of the shooting in September 2019 and playing with scripted dialogue. However, for my own creative purposes, there are subtle differences and perspectives etc, so let me know what you think! This is not my own idea, I was inspired by anon publishing 'Don't Leave Me' where Callum is shot instead of Ben, so be sure to check that out too. Thank you! :)

"What would you call him, Ben?"

Despite the large turn out of guests scattered around the pub, the atmosphere had turned cold, silent, un-nerving. Just moments before, Callum had been overwhelmed by the presence of so many close friends and family, all here for what was supposed to be his wedding, and he feels the tendrils of fear trickling down his spine at the thought of being exposed so publicly. Clinks of glasses and laughter had all been replaced by the thump of his heart in his chest, battering his ribcage and forcing small, shallow breaths to catch at his throat. _How could he go so far wrong?_

 _"_ Not like this, Whitney," Ben interjects, voice stern and steady. He can feel the nervous energy spark in his own fingertips, radiating from Callum's own trembling digits beside him, no doubt, and the minute shakes of the head in his peripheral vision are what prompt his plea. His fingers are itching, now, wanting nothing more than to align them with the lad beside him, steady him, reassure him that despite all the circumstances, this is okay. He would get through this, the world would keep spinning and he would be okay. Ben would see to it personally.

Before Whitney can say anymore, there is a shrill cry from behind, pummelling them away from the spiral of their private thoughts and instead to the gun being poised across the room. It takes Callum a second to contemplate whether or not he's relieved for the distraction, before his body soon surges from adrenaline and he stands directly infront of Ben, instinctively shielding him and anyone else he can behind his larger frame.

"Bolt that door, now!" The offender yells, the same silence that had originally descended across the room settling the anxious commotion and panicked movement. _"Now!"_

Ben's heartbeat becomes so strong that he can feel blood pulsing against his eardrums, and so he only faintly registers a call for his sister across the room. It takes all of his willpower to stay rooted to the spot, rationale that there had been no gunshot easing his racing mind that Lou and her unborn child couldn't possibly be jeopardised so suddenly. 

"Lock the door!" A careless swing of the gun provokes another cry, and it's only then that Callum notices he isn't the only one unable to still his hands. The boy stood over everyone can't be older than 20, and he is momentarily thrown off by the fear glazed over his eyes despite his position of power. "Do it!" He watches as he pleads for a moment to think, for everyone to just stay back, and he can't help but feel sorry for the troubled lad, clearly acting on impulse from a moment of anger, fear, maybe even guilt. Callum could laugh from the parallels.

Whether it's a matter of three seconds or three minutes, he doesn't know, but a shared glance between Mick, Kush and Jack is enough to convince the men to reach out, hands unified in pulling the gun down to the floor and disputing the threat as quickly as possible. It's not as straightforward as they figured, however, with the boy relentlessly securing his grip and tumbling to the ground, a web of tangled arms and flailing limbs once more spreading panic amongst bystanders. Callum barely feels his legs shuffling backwards, his body on autopilot to reinstate the protective measures he learned from his time on the frontline. The touch of Ben's hand against his lower back is barely there - merely the result of uncoordinated movements and close proximity - but Callum almost flinches from the harrowing realisation that this isn't the army anymore; these aren't helpless strangers but friends, family, those he loves, people who he would never, _cannot_ ever let experience the pain he had seen so poignantly. He turns his head so vigorously that in different circumstances, he would've noticed the sting of whiplash strike up his neck, but his sole focus is on finding Whitney in a sea of suits and dresses.

The chaos stills when he suddenly finds deep blue eyes looking into his own intently, holding gazes as if they were holding each other. Contributing to his whirlwind of emotions that day, Callum feels oddly calm in knowing she is out of reach, backed up against the far wall and away from the focus of the threat. He cannot offer her any physical reassurance - although he lost that privilege a while ago - but all he can hope for is that she knows Callum loved her, would've done anything for her, would hold his eyes with hers for as long as she asked.

He doesn't register his eyes being torn from Whit's, instead being replaced with a blurry ceiling and eventually, nothing at all, silence deafening the pub for a final time. 

_______ 

He doesn't remember his eyelids being so heavy, nor had he paid much attention previously to the rise of his chest with every breath, lungs heaving up and down methodically, but it's a nice contrast to the feather-light touch in his hair, he thinks. The loose strands of his quiff thump onto his forehead, before swiftly being returned to their righteous place. Curiosity takes over then and Callum blinks to uncover the mystery of whose arms he is laying in. 

"Mick, I need your jacket, a towel, anything - I need to stop the bleeding." Ben states, voice monotone from shock and eyes not lifting from looking down at Callum draped across his legs. 

"He needs an ambulance." Another voice, quieter this time. 

"I-I'm a nurse, I can look at him." 

"Look, no one makes any calls, no one _moves."_

 _"_ Hunter, he is _bleeding-"_ Callum knows that voice before he feels the vibrations from Ben's torso, confirming the hold to be his. It's still unnerving somehow, even as he fights to keep his eyes open that he has never heard him sound like this, never quite so desperate, so fearful. 

"He's gonna die if he don't get help!" Mick defends. 

"Everyone just shut up, I can't think!" 

"Hunter!" 

His brain can't keep up with the dialogue being thrown across the room, a million miles above him, so it seemed, as if he was sinking further down into the floor of the pub. A sharp pounding on the doors roughly pull him back to ground level, head tilting towards the source of the violent ring in his ears, just long enough for Callum to refocus on the cool touch to his temple. 

"Just shut up, I can't think-" As unfamiliar as the voice was, Callum can't help but resignate. 

_____

"Hunter, please. Take a minute - take a minute, and think." 

Ben readjusts the hold on the fabric he has pressed to Callum's side, concentrated on applying adequate pressure to keep him alive. The subtle shift elicits a soft grumble of protest from the older lad, however, and Ben can't stay silent anymore. 

"Callum? Callum, talk to me, please," He says, pulling his body upwards as gently as possible to encourage him. For the first time, Callum lifts his eyes to meet with Ben's shadowed gaze, although the ocean blue washes over him as far as the stretch of dried blood next to his eyebrow. 

"You're hurt?" He replies hoarsely, the feeling in his throat winding him temporarily from the physical weight of such movement. 

"You are kidding me, right?" Ben offers a sad smile. "You're hardly a bed of roses yourself, right now." 

An involuntarily cough tugs at Callum's lungs, with his shaky exhale providing little relief. "You're gonna be just fine, I'm gonna get you out of here. I need you to stay with me, yeah?" 

Begrudgingly, Callum complies, but before he can muster enough energy to give a nod, the boy he has labelled as Hunter pipes up again. 

"Right get back," He commands, to who Callum assumes is to those stood over them, already blurry figures in the distance. "Get down." 

"Just do as he says," Mick interjects, "No one else is gonna get hurt." Callum clings to every word, just as he always has with the LandLord. 

"Yeah, I'll do the talking. Get, down! Now!" 

Callum doesn't try to keep up this time, instead choosing to centre himself with the perch of Ben's hand on his head; it's gentle, just like all of Ben's touches had been with him (forgetting one small incident the night of his stag), but grounding nevertheless. Maybe he's dreaming, but Callum can feel the way each of his fingers rest, the thrum of his own heartbeat radiating into his head, strong and steady, cheering him on to maintain the same rhythm. His other hand, centered across his chest, is firmer, vitally so, he assumes, but he is overwhelmed with the warmth that overcomes the ache in every bone as a result of Ben's hold. The hold he had denied himself for a lifetime, and couldn't find the strength to deny any longer. 

"Hunter, I ain't leaving him. He will bleed out, he will die, and that is _murder."_ Ben disputes the request for him to move to the side. Callum too, despite not reaching his lips. 

"Alright, you can stay." 

He lets himself relax then, letting the breath go that he had little ability to hold in the first place, makes no effort to keep his head from lulling to the side and being supported by Ben's hand. His fingers are delicate against his skin, slightly cool despite the heat of summer, but it's enough. The next time his eyes flutter open is to the sound of a phone, muffled by clothing, but ongoing, unanswered. It seems too far away to be his, or Ben's, but there's a shift beneath him as he attempts to retrieve the device from his pocket and slide it across the floor. Following the task, the palm of Ben's hand reinstates the pressure to his side, shirt soaked through and sticking to his skin with ease. 

They were in this for the long haul, and Callum contemplates if this would turn into his forever. 

_____

Before he can give in to the sinking force below, suffocating his lungs and drifting away from the pressures across his body, a hand to his shoulder balances him. Air rattles against his ribs from the contact, unsettled, but it's sharp enough to bring him back to focus. He was supposed to be fighting for himself. 

"Hey, how you doing?" 

"Me?" With guidance from Ben, his head tilts and Sonia comes into focus, crouched down next to him. Her tone is motherly, and Callum feels safe here, despite all circumstances. 

"I'm not bad." 

Another scuffle on the left draws attention, but Callum doesn't have enough time to recalibrate his focus. "If we don't call an ambulance soon, he's going to die." 

It takes a moment for Ben to breathe, Callum notices, from the way he is suspended on his chest, drifting so high the oxygen is thinning out. 

"No, no one's calling anyone, no one's making any moves." 

For the first time since he's been propped up here - seconds, hours, he couldn't begin to estimate - Callum shows a sign of extreme discomfort, body jerking to try and dislodge the unbearable sensation from within him, this time, friction burning across him like the claws of an animal. He doesn't miss the bellow of a second bullet puncturing through the air, a shattering of glass and gasps of fear echoing off the walls. A shudder of uncertainty leads him to slide into Ben's left arm, somewhat cowering in on himself as an attempt to rid himself of the internal agony. Sonia reaches across him, seconding Ben's hold on the bloodied towel against him, but that's not what's causing such discomfort, he knows it. 

"His life's on you," Hunter whispers, gun once again pointed towards the trio, two hands needed to steady himself. "It's all on you." 

The sight of the metal object resonates with Callum and he stills against Ben, who is trying not to writhe uncomfortably under the threat of a gun to his head. It all clicks into place, as if he was nowhere else but on the field, lost in a maze of smoke, shouts and screams, and he knows exactly what to do. 

His eyes are wide as he solely concentrates on lifting his hand to curl around Sonia's wrist, fingers limp as they wrap around her smaller hand, but present nonetheless. 

"The bullet," Callum whispers, knowing not to draw attention back to them. "The bullet, s'gotta come out." 

"Is that doable, Son?" Ben asks hopefully, voice barely above a whisper. "Can we do it?" 

She looks torn, Ben thinks, uncertainty strewn across her features and brain working ten to the dozen to find the the hidden answers. "I- I'm not a doctor, and if I get this wrong...it could worsen the bleeding, cause a lot of pain - just keep him talking, for as long as he can, and we'll go from there." 

_____ 

The next time the phone rings, Callum winces, the shrill echoing in his head and tugging on the tendrils of fatigue that are fighting to claim his consciousness. If he is drifting in and out of sleep then it cannot be for long, because Ben's touch is unfaltering by his hair, Sonia is still tucked up against him, and the room is still lit in shadowed sunlight. He doesn't try to move his legs, now just a mass of dead weigh extended from his torso, but his fingers twitch occasionally in response to snippets he hears. The mention of Whitney however, naive and sporadic from the shooter's mouth, is enough to lift his head, wanting to see what he's missed, needing to know she is safe now that he has failed to protect her. 

"Whit? No," He calls, head tilting because he can't see what's going on, it's frustrating him. "Whit..." 

"It's alright, love, she's fine. She's gone to answer the phone, and we'll try and get you out of here." 

"I...I never meant to hurt her," He whimpers, words scratching his throat red raw as he forces them to the surface. "I love her." Fire rips through his chest, and Callum wonders if this is heartbreak. He had never known pain like this, where he could feel the tsunami of blood battering against him, hollowing him from the inside out, limbs restrained by cement. It's so tempting to succumb to, to lessen all sensations, but no one else is willing to let him slip, it seems. 

"Come on, Callum, stay with us." Sonia pleads, nerves increasing with his deterioration. She doesn't trust her own voice to be worthy enough, and so she looks to Ben to prompt him. 

"Hey," He begins, slightly shaky. "Uh, what did you have for breakfast this morning, Callum?" 

The process of retrieving such information is slow, Callum first having to identify what is was that 'breakfast' was associated with, and then back to this morning, which now seemed as long ago as his school days. "Hm? Break-fast?" 

"Yeah," Ben encourages. This was good, he was thinking, responding. "Yaknow, cereal...fry up?" 

"I didn't eat, this morning..." He trails off, some sounds more audible than others. "I was too nervous." Another nod from Sonia tells him to keep going. 

"What, what were you nervous for? Big day or something?" He feels a surge of warmth in his own chest when he catches Callum's smile, faint but still highlighting his cheekbones, looking more like himself. He can't hold it for long, but Ben's damned if he won't try to keep it there. 

"I can't believe that,... that Whit even looked twice, at me..." Ben doesn't miss the force with which he blinks, preventing any more moisture seeping from his body. "She deserves, everything... Everything I could never give her."

Callum lets the skimming of Ben's thumb across his cheek comfort him, even though he feels he doesn't deserve it. Why should he be the one to get the happy ever after? He was the reason, after all, that they weren't happily celebrating, glasses in hand, speeches underway with their nearest and dearest. The small, niggling voice in the back of his head had grown uncontrollably, yet he couldn't keep the lid on tight enough when it mattered. He was losing everything, didn't have it in him anymore to fight so hard, just wanted it to stop. 

"I'm sorry," He whispers, defeatedly giving in and letting his head fall in whichever way it wished. Another cough stumbles from his lips, sounding all the more like a sob. "I'm so sorry..." 

"No," Ben says, voice guarded with holding his own tears from falling. " _No_ , Callum, you don't _ever_ apologise for who you are, you hear me? There is not one person in this room right now that would be thinking of everyone else before themselves when they've got a bullet in their chest." Callum registers a touch below his chin, cautious of not pressing against his airway, but still steady and comforting, like always. "You are loved, Callum, for who you are, so _never_ apologise for that. Don't you dare."

It's rare for Ben to be quite so open with his feelings, but given the situation, he couldn't care less about all of the prying eyes he feels etching into his skull. He still remembered how lonely it was to be in that place, to feel shut out from all the world, never being able to live up to expectation and the ongoing self loathing that penetrated every fibre of his being. He didn't blame Callum, of course he didn't, but it hurt to see him so tortured over something so genuine, so selfless, so _Callum_. They had a long way to go yet - Ben wasn't stupid - but Callum was worth it. 

"You look at what you've done!" He yells out, frustration and panic overwhelming his priority to keep Callum talking, keep him alive. 

Callum keeps his eyes closed, not finding the strength to lift them like boulders up a mountain, and instead just feels the way his body is settled against Ben. His arm hangs loosely across his leg, his wrist just above the floor, whilst his legs had moved, somehow, and were now nestled closely in between Ben's own. When the murmurs died down, he thinks he can hear Ben's heart against his ear, a little quick but consistent, loud with life. He wonders what his own would sound like, if anyone would ever listen to it again, if he will ever find someone who deems him worthy to lay like this, close enough to feel the rhythm for themselves and not just a hum in their ears.

He begins to feel lighter when Ben lifts his arm, letting Sonia come closer, checking in on his breathing, and before long, his thoughts are fading away. 

_____

"He is barely breathing," Ben says, panicked. He hopes it's in his head, but he isn't as warm as he was when he first pulled him into his lap, nor was he quite so still. "What is it?" 

"His lungs are collapsing." Sonia adds, a forlorn expression decorating her eyes. 

"Right, well, what do we do? How do we fix it?" 

"Please, Sonia, we've got to do something, I can't watch this anymore-" Ben's surprised to see Mick edging towards him against the bar, cautiously and on his knees, but his eyes carry with them a sense of urgency he doesn't wear often. "He's like my _son_ , c'mon, tell us what you need!" 

There is a moment of hesitation, but from one parent to another, she caves. "Uh, if I had a biro, and spirit- vodka will do," 

"Behind the bar," Linda complies, safe to do so with Hunter diverting attention to the doorway, planning his getaway. It would be over soon, surely- 

"Quickly!" 

Trying to gain back the time, somehow, Ben gently moves himself out from under Callum's weight, laying him flat to the ground with Mick crouched by his head. It pains him to loosen the tie still roped around his neck, before undoing the buttons of his shirt with unsteady hands, nothing like the first time he had done such a task just three months earlier. He didn't dare release his hand from Callum's wound, not without instruction to do so, and it scares him how stiff his wrist is in said position - how long he's been led here, how long he's been bleeding out for. 

"Mick, you need to hold him down- he'll resist this, if we're lucky, but he must stay still." As instructed, Mick places a sturdy grip over Callum's shoulders, taking his hand in his to efficiently restrain his arms simultaneously from flying out. Combined with the new grip, and the sensation of cold air niggling at his bare skin, Callum stirs, albeit on the precipice of consciousness. 

"You listen 'ere, Halfway, alright, you ain't going nowhere." Mick says attentively. His spare hand cups the side of his face, perhaps a little rough in comparison to Ben's, but it works in keeping him from slipping away once more. A soft whimper wheezes past his lips, and his eyes are too heavy to open. He just listens. 

"W-What...Dad?" Only Mick hears him, voice barely surpassing a whisper. "What are you doing, here?" 

"As good as, son, as good as." Mick reassures, blinking furiously. "and it's my pub, you cheeky sod, I'm already gonna have a mare sorting the dry cleaning as it is and I don't need you giving me any more grey hairs, alright?" 

"No, Mick, you can't, it ain't safe...you've gotta get out, please," 

The LandLord is momentarily distracted when he catches Sonia finish wringing her hands thoroughly with spirit, a deep breath being released with control in an attempt to ease her nerves, but they cannot delay this any longer. She instructs Ben to ease his grip with one word, before she precisely locates the bullet wedged painfully into Callum's chest, tucking into his ribcage. The intrusion of her fingers cause the lad to clench Mick's hand in an iron grip, teeth gritted tightly and head flying up to rest against his shoulder as he lays over him, holding him still. He goes to cry out, jaw dropping from the intensity of the flames flushing through his body, but the sounds are tucked under his tongue, unable to comprehend what was happening. 

"You're alright, lad, we've gotcha." 

"Got it." Sonia whispers, before re-adjusting her volume to address the patient. "Not long now, Callum, I promise." 

The pulling sensation once more unsettles Callum, leaving him gasping out for any sense of relief he can find. A swarm of bees may as well be covering him, sticking to his blood like it were honey, prickling at his skin, sharp and succinct, snatching the air from his lungs. A wave of relief ripples beyond the inner circle when the shine of the bullet catches in the light, no longer protruding and straining his already starved organs. With one final incision to his chest, Callum suddenly feels a similar sense of ease, as the suffocating, tight feeling lifts with assistance from the plastic cylinder acting as a cardiovascular crutch. He lets his eyes peel open for the first time in a while, and after the initial shock of the obnoxious brightness, he is met with a face he didn't expect to see. 

"What are you doing here?" He grimaces, movement still proving to be a challenge of some sort. "You can't...we need to go back," 

There is a flurry of arms across him, tangled together in a web, holding him, but none are the touch he associates with the figure; dark hair sits neatly in a quiff on the top of his head, trailing down to a freshly shaven, friendly face, a soft smile surfacing over his lips as Callum catches his eyes, blue and lustrous. 

"Breathe for me, Halfway." His tone is soft and calm, just how he remembers it, and it takes him a while to realise the reason he can hear no other voice is due to his strife for air overriding them, body convulsing without consent, yet he feels nothing. "You can do it, breathe." 

Callum tries, he really does, mindfully releasing his lungs and filling them again, an action that had never required such labour in all his twenty-eight years so far. He has so many questions that race around his mind, and he thinks if he can dispute them, then he'll be able to concentrate, but he needs to know. 

"Where are, the kids? They were right here, just now, we can't-can't just leave them." That was their mission, their duty, one they couldn't afford to make a mistake on. 

"They're safe, tucked up in bed by now, I expect. That's where you're gonna be soon and all, okay? You're so brave." 

"Their mum, Chris...we've gotta move, now, before it's too late..." He doesn't feel the wetness on his cheeks, emotions taking their toll and not to mention, the excruciating heat at the core of his being. He didn't want to let anyone down, didn't want the attention, just wanted to be normal. Ordinary. Himself. 

"You leave her to me, H. You're where you belong, and this is where you're staying. Don't argue with me." He rises from his knees then, and Callum cannot pinpoint how he does it from such a distance, but a touch to his forehead and a smooth hand in his quieten his thoughts with ease. 

"Wait," He pleads, but it's lost in another shaky breath, failing to reach his ears. 

"I'll see you later, yeah? I'll come back for ya, you can count on it." A final smile flashes in Callum's vision, and he barely holds his eyes long enough to see him walk through the doors, pathway completely clear but not for long, his slim figure being replaced with an army of fluorescent, rushing green jackets. He doesn't fight against the needle in the back of his hand, a mask sitting across his face or a soft material being placed over one side of his body, he just lets them do what they need to do to keep him where he belongs. He's tired, so so tired, and he assumes that he is allowed to cave into that now, the world having fallen quiet around him. The final sensation he recalls is a spark in his fingertips, nothing more than a twitch, but there nonetheless, applying the smallest of pressures against the back of the hand in his. 

Ben's head is bowed down, leaning on his arched knee for support, eyes closed with gratitude more than anything else. Vaguely, he feels Mick offer a reassuring grip to his shoulder, Sonia's eye ridding themselves of immediate concern, and he thanks them eternally for keeping Callum alive. Keeping _Ben_ alive, somehow. He responds to Callum's touch and elicits a delicate brush of his thumb over his knuckles, and then he just holds on. He vows, here in this moment, to never let him go again, to never walk away or run or hide. 

He will get through this, the world will keep spinning and he will be okay. Ben will see to it personally. 


End file.
